Page 89 of The Call She Made That He Never Answered
"You knew that medication was a matter of my sister's life," she cut me off, voice full of disappointment. "But you still had to take that meeting. Less than two hours. You still had to take that meeting! Is work really that important to you? More important than my sister's life? More important than what I asked you to do?"
Her hands pushed against my chest, shoving hard. I stumbled backward out of the room.
"I never should have trusted you," she said through her tears, voice completely raw. "I'll never trust you again."
The door slammed in my face.
I stood in the corridor, listening to her cry inside. That suppressed, desperate sobbing cut through me like knives.
I realized the trust we'd barely rebuilt had collapsed again.
And this time, it might be more complete than before.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ella
The door clicked shut behind me. I'd locked Lucas out.
I collapsed into the chair, eyes squeezed shut, trying to steady my breathing. I couldn't. My whole body was shaking.
Since Rochester, Lucas had stopped ignoring my calls. But I never expected him to slip back into old habits. In the past, whenever I needed him, all I got was a busy signal. After I'd asked for a divorce, Lucas had changed so much. I thought those days were behind us. But now I knew better. What happened never really disappears. It just burrows inside you. And when things go wrong again, those memories crawl out like demons from hell and strangle your sanity.
I turned toward the dim hospital bed. Maya's brow was creased tight—her sleep restless. She was stable, but her body was still suffering. She'd only managed to drift off after medication loaded with sedatives. And I'd just screamed at that man right beside my sister's bed.
I wanted to slap myself.
A faint click. Almost imperceptible. Lucas pushed the door open again.
"Ella, I need to show you something."
I didn't look at him. Wouldn't give him even a glance. If the hospital door had a lock, I would've bolted it.
A rush of air. Lucas crossed to the desk, flipped open his briefcase, and pulled out three phones like a magician producing cards.
I'll admit—that caught me off guard. I couldn't help but look.
"I carry three phones." He lined them up like a general inspecting troops.
"This one's corporate. Monitored 24/7 by assistants, secretaries, and the whole PR team. Company business. Board directives."
"This one's encrypted. For resources that can't be… public. Security details in certain areas, that kind of thing."
"And this one…" He picked up the black personal phone. The screen lit up—packed with my missed calls. Every red notification burned my cheeks.
"This one's the real private line. Family. Friends. And… you."
I stared at him. A bitter laugh scraped my throat.
Something dark flickered across Lucas's face. "I'll admit—before, I poured everything into that corporate phone and the encrypted one. In my world, every second meant millions moving. This personal phone? I assumed nothing urgent would ever come through."
His voice dropped lower, guilt bleeding into every word. But all I felt was the absurdity of it. That classic elite arrogance sparked my hatred all over again. He'd reduced my life to a security clearance and a credit card balance. Quantified my existence as a material supply, never once asking what I actually needed.
"I was wrong."
When Lucas said those words, I thought I'd misheard. But when his head dropped, shoulders sagging like his spine had given out, I actually felt his pain.
Like the same shell suddenly housed a different soul.
